


We Are Different

by MyBlueBooks



Series: Brothers [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adopted Children, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Brotherhood, Child Sherlock, Child!John, Detective stories, Experiments, Other, Siblings, cakes, they are cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyBlueBooks/pseuds/MyBlueBooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He found out something tragic about his family behind a mysterious door. It has always been Sherlock and Mycroft, but what happens when the Holmes family adopt a little kid named John?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Door

**Author's Note:**

> Not an English speaker, so I apologise for my mistakes. Thanks for reading.

He always felt like the house was bigger for them. There were four, and the house already had more than ten rooms, a large kitchen, a sitting room, a dinning room, two libraries, more bathrooms than rooms, the service room and the list continued.  
But he knew the layout perfectly. He knew each room and what he could find on them. There was a room where his father and his older brother used to sit and talk about books and different things he found boring and dull. Politics, why people would talk about politics and economics? As he always loved to say, it was just 'dull'.

There was a room where some of the maids used to sleep. Again, 'dull'. One day when all of them were cleaning all the house because his parents were coming from a holiday in France, he found out that one of them was pregnant and she was planning an abortion.

His mother's favourite room was upstairs and was near the end of the hall. It was big enough for a piano, and a little library with different musical books, composers biographies, partitures, and old paintings hanging on the endless blue walls. The entire room had a slightly shade of blue, wich was her favourite color. It was the place where he learned how to play the violin, his favourite instrument and he love it for two only reasons: first, Mycroft couldn't play it because, according to his deductions, music was something he would never understand. He could be a genius at Politics, Geography, Economics, History and even cooking, but music wasn't his area. And second, because his mother always loved to heard him playing. 1812 Overture was her favourite from Tchaicovsky, her favourite composer. Little Sherlock had something with his mother. A kind of love he would not admit, not even in the future years. The only opinion that could count to him was his mothers. And she felt it.

His own room was like his brother's. It only had the necessary furniture and a large desk and library in each room. He liked the books about mistery, horror, gore and some crime tales. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was his favourite writer and the most popular between all his books.

The first room upstairs was his parents room. It was like his own, but with a large wardrobe to keep his mother's clothes and without a desk, because his father had his own room-office. But there was a room he could never get access to. It was at the end of the hall, and it was locked. Since he had memory, no one had entered to the mysterious place. Not even the maids, and everytime he asked them for a key, they always replied the same.

"Sorry Sir, we don't have the key of that room" He knew they were all saying the truth, they never lied to him because they perfectly knew that he could tell when someone was lying to him and everything about everyone. Despite his words, the maids keep calling him 'Sir' after his mother orders. He had only seven years old, he wasn't a 'Sir'.

The boy tried everything, but he couldn't tell what was behind that door. He considered a few options to get access to that room. He could go to Mycroft and ask him. He was older than him, so maybe he knew what was inside or, he could go to his parents and simply ask. He was the owner of that house as his parents, so he felt like if he would ask them about it, they should explain something to him. If the previous options failed, then he needed to do it by himself. He'd have to break in, someway.

Before his brother went to school he cornered him in the kitchen, where no one could hear them, despite for the maids for strict orders were 'deaf' and 'blind' to the activities of the members of the Holmes family. They just only were there to clean and cook.

Mycroft was looking inside the fridge with his nose almost touching the cakes one of the cook's prepared early in morning, when Sherlock started his interrogation.

"What is inside that room?"

The teenager looked at him with a serious expression across his face. He knew, without anyone's help that his little brother had been looking for that room before and eventually questions were expecting. Sherlock Holmes, his young brother was as clever as him, as clever as every Holmes in the family. But there had been always a problem with him. Most of the men of the family dedicated his life to the study of the Politics and Economy, becoming most of them into important lawyers, members of the Parliament- politicians. But Sherlock never shown any signs of interesting in those areas. In his longs conversations with his father, he confessed that the only thing he and his mother could do was waiting to see what he wanted to be. They wouldn't need to persuade him or at least press on him. They were convinced that he would develope his own taste on something. Mycroft Holmes didn't need to look into his brother's books or in his behaviour to know what Sherlock wanted for his life. So, when he cornered him in he kitchen, he knew that that was the time to tell him some facts. Facts that he ignored because no one told him, and now he was asking to know.

"I'm late to school. Tell Mummy I'll come on Sunday"

He closed the kitchen door slowly and the driver opened the door car for him. Mycroft wasn't coming home until next week, and Sherlock wasn't a person who fancy the suspense. If his brother wasn't going to tell him, maybe hiss parents would.

* * *

That night little Sherlock was having dinner alone with his mother. His father excused himself, but as a member of the British Government he had important events to attend that night like strikes in some part of the country. And that only made things easier to him, because his mother used to spoil him when his father was out, like the youngest of her children.

After one of the maids served them some ice cream as dessert ordered by Sherlock, he confronted his mother who was deeply lost in her thoughts that night. For some reason he noted that she used to lost herself into his mind during the third week of each month. It was like she was remembering something that wasn't a good memory. But not only her, everyone in the house was different a that moment of each month. He couldn't tell a words from Mycroft who was attending to Harrow. His father was quite like usual but his look was as lost as his mother's.

It was an eighteen of June exactly.

"Mother, what is inside the last room upstairs?"

Unlikely Mycroft, he never called his mother 'Mummy'. She was 'Mother' to him and that was something he knew that was upsetting her, but he couldn't change it. Mrs Holmes face was pale to say the least. That was the most unexpected question coming from Sherlock's mouth. She was ready to talk about sex, bees, different types of blood, etcetera. But that was a question she wasn't ready to answer to his youngest child.

Elizabeth Holmes stood up ordering the maids to clean the table and saying to them they could go to sleep because she wouldn't be needing them for the rest of the night. The little boy stood up with her, and she took his hand and they climbed the stairs together. He thought they would be playing a Tchaikovsky duet with him on the violin and his mother on the piano, but they ended in front of the door of the last room of the house.

He saw as his mother took a key from inside the front part of her dress and opened the door for him.


	2. John

Sherlock Holmes, eight years old was told that he had another brother.

"If he- he would be ten years old now."

The walls were white painted but strangely painted and decorated with different and strange patterns and designs. The 'He' from her mother indicated everything he needed to know. There was a cradle near the window and basic foniture for a nursery room wich was covered with white blankets to protect them from the dust. There were clear signs that the room have been locked for a long time, the blue carpet on the floor was dirty and the only footprints on it was from his mother and his own. The window was closed but the curtains were open, letting the sun shine over the cradle during the day. That sunlight made the white fabric of blankets's cradle yellow and the teddy bear over it was dusty. No one entered that room for at least a year to Sherlock's deductions, judging why the density of the dust. He walked around the room making mental notes about the things he was looking. Clearly that room was prepared with certain level of feelings. Strong feelings.

There was a little piece of white fabric with a embroidery name on it with blue thread.

"His name was  _John._ "

It was unfinished in the last letter. His mother walked towards the door again, maybe she wanted to leave, but Sherlock didn't. It was something entirely new for him. There was a Holmes before him, a brother he never met, a brother who died maybe before birth. Why he never knew about it? Why no one told him about it? But he wasn't clever for the Holmes genes only. His mother was as clever as him, maybe more. She could read all those questions in his youngest son face just looking into his eyes. If he wanted answers, he would have them. There wasn't any point to hide something like that to him, not anymore.

"We never told you because we think you were too young to know about it. In a few days it's going to be eleven years since his death."

"How he died?"

Sherlock Holmes wasn't showing any emotions across his face, wich didn't surprise his mother at all. She knew perfectly that his son wasn't an emocional boy. He was rational, and he rarely shown any emotion or feeling to the others. It was something she only experienced once or maybe two times since he was born.

"Doctors couldn't tell me. I couldn't feel him kicking inside me for a whole day. Your father took me to the doctor and he said he died. Only a week before the birth date."

He nodded and took his mother hand with his. She understood the action and closed the door behind her but this time, she didn't it locked it using the key. His son understood that it wasn't necessary to lock that door again. It was a way of letting those feelings about her son dead away.

Sherlock made his way to his room and closed the door behind him. He changed his clothes to his pyjamas and lay on his back, looking directly to a random point on the ceiling remembering all those things he went throught that week trying to figure out what was behind that door. He passed a hand behind his neck, touching his dark curly hair still amazed to know that he had another brother. A brother who died before he could met his parents, his brother Mycroft. Before he could met him.

He closed his eyes trying to sleep, when something as dangerous as a bacteria, an infection, possesed his mind. His parents would have had him if _John_  hadn't die? Was he a replacement? Sherlock's blue ice eyes were wide open while thinking about that. Should he care about it? The lack of what people used to call 'friends' or maybe 'a closer brother' made him talk with himself always. He closed his eyes and fall asleep with the moonlight shinning trought his window.

And he forgot everything he knew about John Holmes. At least for that night.

* * *

The day came, and all the four Holmes were standing in front of the familiar pantheon in the cementery. It was the first year Sherlock attended to his un-born brother's grave and all of them were silent. In front of him was a golden plate with an inscription on it.

 _'John Holmes. Dear son, you will be always in our hearts'._  The plate was posh and it seemed like his parents had a person who had been taking care of it because it was shinning like if it was brand new, when it had eleven years old now. After a silent moment, the Holmes's family returned to the car and the driver took them to their different locations. The first was his father at the Parliament and then Mycroft at Harrow. For his mother's insistence, Sherlock took home education with a tutor from Eton. If everything went good for the young child of the family, he was going to attent to Harrow or maybe Eton the following year. Saying  _'if everything goes good'_  from his mother's lips meant that if Sherlock was ready to affront, face and deal with other children. Everyone knew that the kid had some trouble at the moment of socialise with other children of his same age. It was clear since he was in kindergarten. For some reason, he always seemed to be behind them, not in intellect. He was behind them in what psichologist loved to say _'social skills'_.

Mrs. Holmes refused to take his son to teraphy because she insisted her son was a normal child, and he was just shy. So from that day he had home classes and took a variety of signatures that other kids were impossible to attend for the difficulty of them. He was fluent in French, German and even Spanish. He took advanced classes in Biology and he liked Medicine. According to his father's words, he would be the first Holmes specialized in such area. To Sherlock, being a Holmes wasn't anything special. For him they were a family like the others, maybe different because his father, his father's father and his father's father's father and he could continue, worked for the British Government. It was like when a Holmes died, another one was ready to occupy his place. And he didn't want that, he wanted to be himself. He loved to see bees and study how they produce honey and how was their organization. He was interested in human blood and how you can know everything about everyone just looking their faces, their hands and the way they stand.

No one kept him away of what he liked. Not like his father said to him that he was proud about his bees knowledge or about his deductive skills, but he accepted his son's choices and he used to bought to him everything he needed to his experiments. They even built a little laboratory for him outside the house. It was an old greenhouse that he insisted on changed it for him. He couldn't kept his experiments in the kitchen when one of the maids fainted after seeing a dissected rat over the counter, so Mr. Holmes hired a few men and after weeks, the laboratory was finished. It had a large counter with the latest mycroscopes and all the laboratory elements and equipment he could ever need. It was an early Christmas for him.

But everything changed for him seven months later. It was an fourteen of April to be exactly. A warm and spring day in that part of London when his parents arrived together after an event from the Government. Sherlock never read the papers or watched news, for him it was a mundane thing to do and with that statement it was clear that he ignored some important facts like who was the Prime Minister or what was happening in the world. His father was talking about visiting some places for his political campaing and he had scheduled a visit to a orphanage in the South side of London. His mother always went to those places with him and Mycroft was attending school, so he knew he was going to be the ears to his father about his political issues during dinner.

"It can be a good opportunity to do a good press, Richard."

Mrs Holmes could sometimes be recognized for being a little bit superficial, but she was a woman with a good heart. The maids, the driver, all the service personnel respected her and cared about her. Maybe she could sound strict about her orders, but she always thank them for their hard work on the house and she was always there for them. Elizabeth knew she was overprotecting her young child, but she couldn't help it. Sherlock deduce it was from the similitudes they shared. While Mycroft was the exact copy from his father Richard Holmes, Sherlock was the copy of his mother. Dark curly hair, pale skin and blue eyes.

They finished dinner in silence, and after a hot cup of tea Sherlock was upstairs in his mother's room playing the violin. His mother sat in her favourite chair listening carefully at her child. He always played beautifully and she could never hear a wrong note coming from his fingers. He just played perfectly.

To Elizabeth Holmes, her son Sherlock was perfect.

* * *

A few days later, Sherlock was having his usual Biology class when his parents returned soon before lunch from their scheduled events. He really was enjoying the class, today Mr. Kessington was teaching him about the brain cells and their functions when his mother interrupted them saying that she and Mr. Holmes needed to have lunch with the presence of their son.

"You can come tomorrow, Mr. Kessington."

The boy twisted his mouth in protest, not saying a single word and walked straight to the dining room. His parents were sitting there with papers in their hands and his mother was reading them carefully. His father was only signing them with his favourite black pen when his son arrived, not finding any food. He could tell Sherlock was going to ask why they ended his Biology class for a non-visible lunch, when he sat in front of them. The papers and documents were relocated into a white folder with a name on it. A name he couldn't read, but he saw with the mess of papers a picture of a boy about his age. He had blonde thick hair. He wasn't smilling at the moment of the photo, but judging by his expression he wasn't happy. He couldn't say a word from him. The photo looked a little bit cheap, and it was in black and white. Behind that photo was a name writen with black ink.  _John_.

Who was  _John_? Why his parents had papers and a photo from a boy named  _John_?

Those questions were important to Sherlock. Eventually something strange was going on, because his father was at lunch time at home, when he never left his office to having lunch with his family. And his mother supposed to be having lunch with her friends, most of them wifes of other's members of the Parliament or sometimes with the Queen herself.

One of the maids started to put the dishes over the table and his mother put the white folder in the chair next to her.

"How was your class today, Sherlock?"

His father looked at him, waiting for an answer and the boy could only work a fake smile to his father and told him he was doing it well and that Mr. Kessington was a good teacher. He really wanted to yell at them and kick the floor asking why they had to interrupt and finish his class when he was delightfully interested with the brain cells work-

Mrs Holmes smiled at him sincerely and they ate in silence. Sherlock's eyes were on them, and their hands. His mother's sleeve had a blonde hair different from all of them. His father's hair was brown with a few white hairs mixed on his head. Her mother had curled and black hair like him. It couldn't be from Mycroft since he was at school. Mr. Holmes right hand had a dark stain, maybe from a stamp, but it definetly wasn't from his black pen. The stain wasn't as dark as the pen's ink. He even didn't attend to his office today, his coat was still on him and he never took it off.

The familiar silence of every meal they shared fall over them, while most of the maids were upstairs cleaning one of the rooms, but Sherlock couldn't tell wich one they were cleaning. He could see how the maids passed the door carrying different things upstairs, such as blankets and boxes. But when they finished lunch, and Mrs Holmes started to pour out tea one of the maids interrupted the scene. She was almost smiling at the masters as she announced that Charles, the driver, was back at home from his task.

"He is here, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. Shall I bring him here?"

"No Clara, take him to the living room and please, prepare some milkshake for him."

Clara, the youngest of the maids made her way to the kitchen, living alone the couple and their son. Sherlock looked up to his mother and then to his father. They looked at each other and stood up from the table. Mrs. Holmes took the white folder from the chair beside her and sat next to his son and explained everything to him. She never used easy words with him. Sherlock could be an eight year old kid, but he was able to understand most of the words the adults managed.

After a visit to one of the famous Orphanages in London, they met a young kid named _John_. The first one interested in him was Mrs. Holmes after watching him reading some books about Biology.

"He had the same book as you."

He was reading it alone, sitting on the floor far away from the other kids. His blond hair fell over his forehead and he was deep concentrated in his reading when she approached him. One of the ladies who work there told them his story.

"His parents died in a car crash and his sister is an alcoholic. She almost kill him in an accident."

John had been living in the Orphanage more than three years. He wasn't a trouble at all, according to the teachers and the staff, he was a very bright boy, but he was very lonely. They looked at the label upper his tiny bed. He was born the same day their son died, but obviously a few years after. He had Sherlock's age. And his name was  _John_.

The word 'adoption' never went out from Mrs. Holmes's mouth, it wasn't needed. His son knew perfectly his mother's heart, and he knew she was the one who suggested the adoption of the young kid and his father, Mr. Holmes took advantage of it for his political campaign and to please his wife. But it seemed like they haven't think about him. What could his son Sherlock think about it?

Sherlock Holmes, eight years old nodded to his mother's words and looked at the white folder. There was a few papers with the signature of his parents there. He also knew the adoption process was difficult, but being a Holmes and sometimes being the British Government made some things easier.

"Let's go and meet him."

He walked between his parents when they arrived to the living room. It was one of the most biggest rooms in the house with very posh furniture and delicated flowered curtains. It had a few sofas and chairs and a tiny table in the centre. There was also a little table near the window with different bottles of whisky and licuor and glasses and some family pictures over the fornitures. When his mother opened the door, Sherlock met John.

This boy, John, was sitting in the middle of the sofa holding a book in his left hand. He was wearing a modest t-shirt, a white jumper and a pair of jeans. His eyes met Sherlock's and for two seconds, wich were more to the boys, they looked at each other.

They walked throught the living room until they were a few steps away from each other. John smiled at his new parents and they smiled at him in return. Sherlock could see that his parent's smile was genuine and full of warm. It was a smile he had seen a few times before. His mother was almost going to cry when Clara, the young maid made her way to the tiny table and left a plate with tea for three, a milkshake and some cookies. The youngest Holmes frowned at the plate. They never ate cookies, not chocolate cookies.

"Hello John. I'd love to introduce you to Sherlock, he's our son."


	3. Your Brother John

The little blonde boy extended his hand politely to Sherlock who, after a few seconds later, shook it with his own. John smiled openly to him and then to Mr. Holmes who handle him his cup with milkshake. John took it and a shy "Thank you, sir." left his mouth. Then, he took every cup of tea and handled it to Sherlock and Mrs. Holmes.

The little dark haired boy felt himself out of the scene he was witnessing. A new person, John, was intruding into his family. The people he was used to live with was different now. His parents were different now. His father was smiling openly and his cheeks were red of joy. The same was happening to his mother. God, even the maids were smiling happily to the new member there, and why he couldn't feel the same? Was it wrong to feel nothing?

"Would you like to see your room?"

John nodded shyly and Mr. Holmes excused himself, saying he had some phone calls to do leaving Sherlock with them. He really wanted to see what the maids were preparing with such enthusiasm and why his mother was carrying the boy upstairs giggling in excitement. But instead of following them, he went out to his laboratory. He had important experiments going, and those needed to be observed.

* * *

He couldn't remember how many hours he spent in his favourite place of the house with his gaze over a microscope when he heard the door open. The footsteps were different from everyone he knew, so when he turned his face he saw John closing the glass door carefully, like he was afraid of breaking it. Sherlock returned to his work when the other boy sat opposite him, looking all the petri dishes with eyes wide open, amazed, and with the clearly intention to talk to him. But he wasn't going to start a chat, no. If John wanted to talk to him, he was going to be the first to talk.

"Mrs. Holmes told me to come here. She said this is your laboratory. It's amazing."

Again, like he had a chronometer into his mind, Sherlock took his time and after 5.4 seconds he opened his mouth, never leaving his gaze off the microscope.

"I'm busy trying to see some blood cells."

He answered coldly, expecting him to leave, but it encourage the boy to talk a little bit more.

"Really? That must be exciting! I want to be a doctor when I grow up. And you?"

The young Holmes never replied his question, instead he changed the sample he was looking for another and kept focused on the microscope. He didn't want to talk to that boy. He was so different to him. He was someone stranger in his house. How could his parents do such a thing? And mostly important, why they didn't ask him before? It was like his opinion didn't count to them.

John felt the cold attitude and indifference coming from the other boy and left the old greenhouse, now laboratory in silence.

After a half an hour ago, little Sherlock was ready to go back to his house and maybe read a book when he hear the maids talking to John in the kitchen. He hide himself behind the door to listen what they were talking about. Apparently his mother left for tea with her friends and John was making a tour around the house.

He saw the boy sitting with the maid in the kitchen table drinking tea and eating biscuits, chatting and laughing about something.

"Do you like your home, sir?"

"Don't call me 'Sir'. I'm  _John_ , please call me  _John._ "

Little Sherlock rolled his eyes and opened the door in silence feeling the gaze of all the service personnel over him. He could even feel John's eyes on him, but he ignored them and went straight to the stairs while one of the maids ran after him wondering if he will be needing anything.

"I don't want anything."

He answered coldly before the new maid could even open her mouth to ask. Once upstairs, he saw that the last room's door wich was his dead brother's room now seemed to be John's room.

Curiosity killed the cat, and Sherlock made his way to the last room in the hall. He knew John wasn't coming after the way he talked to him in the laboratory so he went in. Everything was like he remembered from the time his mother took him there. The walls had the same color mixed with white and some blue decorations. But the forniture had changed. There was a bed, a new closet and a library and a desk like his own. Apparently the maids made all the job after his mother's orders and the bed was made with a blue duvet and the curtains had the same color from the duvet, as the carpet over the floor wich was new. It was blue, like his mother's favourite color.

The library was as big as his own, but it only had two books. One of them was green, it was the same Biology book that Sherlock was reading for his classes with Mr. Kessington. It was an old version and it was broken and some pages were lost. Sherlock knew that coming from an orphanage, the boy didn't have any money to afford the latest version and a more posh edition. The other book was  _'Alice in the Wonderland'_  and it was as old as the other one but it had a different name written inside. Harriet.

Who was Harriet? He remembered his mother talking about the boy's alcoholic sister. Apparently the book belonged to her and he kept it maybe as a memory from his sister and only relative. Nothing more interesting was in that room to Sherlock Holmes's eyes. He left the room and went to his own and caught his Biology book from his desk and started reading it, forgetting everything about John. In his book, he had a large picture of a skull with all his parts well described. Sherlock had always wanted a skull of his own to keep beside his bed. He was wondering how the bone could feel under his fingers. He could get everything he wanted from his parents, but the human skull was an exception. No matter how much he asked, his parents always said no. But he was a very determined person. If he wasn't going to get a human skull now, he will get one once he grow up.

But a few moments later, his mother opened his door smiling. She looked happy, and they were almost coming into the third week of the month. She wasn't sad or lost in her mind like she used to do before. The new boy was making huge changes in minus than twelve hours. And Sherlock felt it.

"Dinner is ready, Sherlock."

He washed his hands and once downstairs he found his parents already sitting at the table. John was sitting beside Mrs Holmes opposite to Sherlock's place. He sat and the maids served them dinner.

Dinners usually were silent, unless Mr Holmes was in the middle of a political campaign or he was very preoccupied with the country situation. But that night the head of the family wasn't talking about politics, economics or press conferences and his mother wasn't nodding with her head as always. This time they were talking with John.

"Did you like your room, John?"

The boy nodded shyly to Mr. Holmes, ready to answer any questions they could have for him. Sherlock studied his parents during dinner. They were excited, like someone who has a knew possesion. To him, John was like a new piece of furniture his mother found atractive and his father was proud to bought it just to please her. To Sherlock, John was a replacement to the original John Holmes and nothing more than that.

"John, can you play any musical instrument?"

"Yes Mrs. Holmes. The nuns at the orphanage taught me how to play the clarinet."

Elizabeth opened her eyes and smiled openly. Her first passion was music and she felt lucky to have another child to taught him music and play with him her favourite musical pieces.

Little Sherlock's eyes never left the unfinished plate with pasta that the chef prepared for them that night until Mrs. Holmes excused herself and took John to her favourite room. He was waiting a few moments to climb the stairs and finish his reading when his father ordered him to go with him to his office. He just nodded and followed his father, feeling strange. He never visited his father's office unless he ordered him to. That was Mycroft's place. His older brother was the one who always shared tea there with his father while they discussed 'mundane topics' like he loved to say. But he knew since Mycroft left home to attend school, he was going to replace him in some way.

"Sit, son."

He sat in the leather chair in front of his father's desk, wondering what he was going to tell him when they heard a noise coming from upstairs. The noise was definetly a piano, but instead of a pair of hands playing, there were two pairs. His mother was teaching John how to play. He could feel the difference of the tempos and even the boy's shaking hands when he touched the instrument.

"Sherlock, I called you here because I need to talk to you."

The young kid just nodded, wanting to say that he knew it and he wasn't a fool. Not like his father just sat him there to see each other's faces.

Richard Holmes told him what he already knew about John's adoption. His mother liked John since the first moment she noticed him reading the same book he had. She even commented her husband how he looked like Mycroft when he had that age. And when they knew John was born the same day John Holmes died, she wanted to take him with her.

"I know you don't like to know about this... issues. But I'm in the middle of a difficult political campaign and the stadistics positioned me in the first place. If I become the Prime Minister, I'll the first Holmes occupying such position."

Again his son just nodded, moving his feets trying to focus on what his father was telling him. Between the noises from a boy without any experience with a piano and his father talking about politics he felt like his head was going to explode.

"I knew the news of Richard Holmes adopting a kid would be the thing I needed to complete my campaign. And your mother wanted him so badly, that I couldn't stop her. I want you to understand that he's not going to replace your brother, Sherlock."

"I understand."

His father smiled at him. He understand the gesture as 'you can go now' and Sherlock made his way to the door, until his father told him something before he could open the door.

"Be good with him. He likes you."

* * *

The next day he woke up with the noise of a loud laugh coming from the garden. He rubbed his eyes with his hands and went to his window to see John and his mother sitting in the grass with one of the maids replacing some pots and removing ground. His mother loved her red roses and she was teaching John how to take care of them.

He remembered that it was saturday and he had no classes that day, so he decided to take a shower and have breakfast downstairs.

Little Sherlock sat in his usual place in the living room and without saying a word, Clara placed a cup of tea and three vanilla biscuits in front of him not without a warm smile. He never spoke more than a few words to the service personnel but the new maid seemed to like him, and she was the only who ever talk a word and smiled at him.

"Thank you."

"It's a lovely day, Sir. You should go out with your mother and your  _brother John_."

 _His brother John_. Those words resonated into his mind and with a cold glance to the maid, he took his mug and the cookies and left the house in silence, making his way to his laboratory. He was walking behind the backs of his mother and John so he was expecting to cross the garden without them noticing him when his mother turned his head.

"Sherlock, come with us! I'm teaching John how to plant roses."

He looked at his mother, really wishing to stay with her but when his eyes fell over John his idea vanished in his mind. Little Sherlock shook his head and went inside the old greenhouse, placing his mug in the counter and throwing the cookies to the closest bin he coul found.

There was something about John Sherlock couldn't approve. Something that made him twist his mouth in disapproval. He hadn't met his brother, the real John Holmes since he died inside his mother and he was born a few years later, but he felt like this John was a fake. This John Holmes was a fake copy of the previous John and his mother was trying to convince herself that this John, this boy who came from an orphanage was the baby she lost eleven years ago. Even knowing that his father agreeded to the adoption just to please his mother and for his political campaign, he knew that he liked this boy too. He could tell by the way his father smiled at the boy. A warm smile that used to belong to Mycroft and him, now was John's smile too.

His mother interrupted his thoughs when she opened the door with her hand stick to John's.

"Mycroft is back. Come with us, I want John to meet him."


	4. Frogs and Roses

Several days had passed since Mycroft's arrival from his free weekend of school. The spring rain was hitting hard in his window and he felt a strange cold breeze while remembering that day.

Sherlock saw his Father shaking hands with Mycroft when they arrived at the living room with John. He observed him quietly, trying to catch any sign of surprise on his brother but far away from that, his elder brother seemed to be delighted with the blonde kid. His mother introduced them, and they shook hands.

"I'm very pleased to meet you John. I'm Mycroft" John raised his head to see the teenager's face and smiled at him sincerely. The dark haired kid never saw any sign of surprise on Mycroft, so he knew it and apparently his parents did talk to him about this new boy before he came back home. And Sherlock knew they didn't talk to him to prevent him from John's presence. They did because he cared about Mycroft's opinion and not his.

"What do you think about Mother's  _'new furniture'_?"

Mycroft's smile disappeared from his face. He looked upstairs making himself sure his parents weren't there to listen Sherlock's words. His question sounded cold and his words's election were painful. He couldn't believe what his brother's mind could think about the poor boy.

"Don't talk about him like that, Sherlock. He's our brother."

The kid shook his head. "He's not our brother. Mother choose him because his name is John and he was born the same day that John Holmes, our real brother died. And Father agreed with her just for his stupid campaign and to please her-"

Before Sherlock could continue with his speech, Mycroft grabbed him by his arm with more strength than necessary and took him out of the house to the garden, not caring the worried look of the maids in their way out. He didn't want to talk to his brother and risk John or his parents to heard them so he guided his brother to the laboratory and closed the door behind him with a slam.

The dark haired boy looked angry, but Mycroft looked hurt. His eyes were sad and he realized it was the first moment he saw his brother like that.

"Sherlock, you don't understand how Mummy and Father suffered since John's death. We all waited for him so badly-"

His little brother far away from keep quiet and listen to him, cut his words.

"So now all of you are replacing him with  _this_  John?"

"She lost all her hope to have another child, until she got pregnant again. And it's not my place to tell you this, but if it is necessary to stop you saying those things about John-"

Sherlock was lost in his brother's words. He haven't stop to think just a moment how his parents felt when his brother died, before he could be ever alive in this world. He really loved his parents, and with Mycroft's words he opened his eyes.

"What is it, Mycroft?"

The teenager sighed and swallowed before answer. He knew he was going to touch his little brother with his words and he was confident that he was going to change Sherlock's mind about John. And making him understand that this boy wasn't a new furniture to his parents. John, was the brother he always missed and the son his parent's always loved.

"When Mummy got pregnant with you, there were more risks. You almost died in the deliver Sherlock, but you made it. She fought for you, and you made it"

Sherlock's mind was white. There wasn't any thoughts, or any experiment that could fill his mind. There was just emptiness. A large and limitless emptyness. His eyes met Mycroft's and he couldn't stop his brother's arms around his body. He wasn't crying, but he could feel his story was saved inside him for a long time. And it was the first time Mycroft said a word about it.

The first thing to came to his mind after his brother's hug was his mother. She was always smiling at him, and he understood why she always spoiled him, why she always pushed him into musical education and why she always loved to hear him playing the violin. He survived to a long fight in which she never gave up.

Sherlock understood why his parents liked so much John. Externally, he could be a good move to his father's and his political campaign, but he suffered too and he was very fond of him.

"Please Sherlock, don't tell this to Mummy. And don't talk about John like that. Can you do it? Can you promise me that?"

He promised not to talk like that about John, but he never promised to stop thinking that way.

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were out of the country for a holiday when his father finished his political campaign, Mycroft was back again to school and it was John and him alone in the house. He never spoke more than a few words with him when it was necessary. Sherlock decided that it wasn't his place to avoid John. It was his house, so he could do whatever he wanted to do without caring about him.

And since it was summer, his mother decided to cancel his classes for a few weeks giving him a rest. Little Sherlock knew his parents were looking for a school for him and John. He didn't need to be stupid to know about that. He wasn't complaining, but the only thing he really wanted from all the matter, was being in a different school from John. He really didn't care going to Harrow, Eton or who knows what school his parents were looking at for them. If he was going to tolerate John at home, he didn't want to be with him at school.

So, his days started as usual waking up in different hours of the day, having his morning shower and having breakfast alone in the sitting room and later, he used to work in his laboratory to the days on end. There were a few and countable moments when he saw John in the house. It was usually in the morning, when he saw the boy walking through the sitting room to the kitchen to have breakfast with the company of the service personnel, and when they had dinner every night. Clearly the boy was the favourite of the maids and he used to help them all the time, maybe because he was bored or because he never had anyone to do things for him. Sherlock deduced this with only watching him a few moments from his bedroom's window one morning, when the old maids were cleaning the garden and John were helping them. The boy was always smiling, working and using facial muscles Sherlock never worked and used before.

And after nine days of ignoring each other, John made the first move. It was a cloudy morning when Sherlock left his room with his Biology book in his hands when he saw John in the hallway almost reaching the stairs when the boy smiled at him.

"Good morning, Sherlock."

"Morning."

They went downstairs together, moving their legs over the stairs when John asked him if they could have breakfast together. John's voice sounded determined, but with certain fear hidden perfectly behind his tone. Sherlock knew that his indifference was noticed by the boy. So, when they arrived to the sitting room, Clara was already placing a plate with cookies, biscuits and two cups of tea for them. Apparently John had planned all with her help. How he knew he was going to say yes?

"OK."

They sat in the sofa, Sherlock near the end of it, trying to keep a measurable distance from John, but he sat just beside him, and they were just a few inches apart. John took his mug and after a few minutes of eating cookies and drinking tea, he glanced at the book placed over the table.

"I have the same book. What are you reading?"

"I've read it all in my Biology lessons. I'm working on some experiments."

John nodded amazed, and hesitated before saying anything else. The dark haired boy knew he was trying to talk, but he was afraid. A slightly pink blush painted on John's face when he turned to him.

"Can I- Can I work with you on them? I- I don't have anything to do, and-"

"I'm going to dissect some frogs. Maybe you can help me, though."

The blonde boy smiled openly, happy of him accepting his help and company. John felt not only happy, he felt inside that maybe it was a perfect opportunity to work his relationship with Sherlock and maybe break that wall the curled boy built between them.

John was decided and determined to work with Sherlock and do everything in his power to please him. The reason was not only because the days alone were dull and sad in that large house with the company of the maids and some cartoons on telly, he wasn't complaining. He knew there in the orphanage were kids wishing they could have his luck and be adopted and have families. But he knew they were brothers, maybe because they were sharing the same last name but he really wanted to have that relationship with him in the future and not depend anymore of the last name.

They both left the room, walking straight to the laboratory. John went there only once since he was living with the Holmes, but now the place looked totally different from that day. The counter and the table were full of textbooks, petri dishes, a big and complete chemistry kit, and a fish-bowl with two frogs.

Sherlock handed him a white coat, which was lengthy for him, maybe because it was Sherlock's and a pair of white gloves. The taller boy opened the book in a specific page and placed it between John and him. It had a large picture of the frog anatomy with all the body parts described below each part.

"Where did you get them?" Asked John, being curious about where did Sherlock got the frogs. Since he was living there he never heard about frogs in the garden, knowing perfectly how Mrs. Holmes cared about it and her flowers.

"In the garden. Mother keeps thinking her garden stills healthy because of those fluids and medicines she buys, but it's because I hunt them in the night" Answered Sherlock, never looking at him while talking.

He put a silver and big plate in the counter and opened carefully the fish-bowl taking one frog with his gloved hands. Strangely, it was calm not moving so much, a thing John noted and frowned while looking at Sherlock.

"I gave it chloroform. So now we can cut it without thinking he could jump from the table."

John nodded looking how Sherlock was cutting the frog's torso, looking at the picture in the book making himself sure he was doing it right. After a few minutes, they had a dissected frog in front of them and all the body parts were perfectly cut by Sherlock and his bistury. The blond boy looked how he made it and he wanted to do it too, but he didn't tell the other kid. Not even realizing yet that he was able to read people, Sherlock surprised him giving him the other frog.

"Your turn. I can see you already read the chapter of this experiment."

John hesitated for a moment, then he placed himself in front of the counter and took the bistury with his left hand. The frog was already under the power of the chloroform, so he didn't really have to worry about anything. He felt Sherlock's eyes on, following each movement he made. It took him longer than the other boy, but after several minutes, he had a dissected frog by him. Sherlock placed the plate next to his and looked at them carefully, studying every detail. The two looked similar, but he could observe that John's was perfectly cut, even in the right part when he saw he was left handed. Clearly, and after the comment their shared the first day of his arrival, the boy was destined to be a doctor.

"If you want to be a doctor, you're doing it well. The cuts are all clean."

John couldn't help but smile and Sherlock saw that. He didn't smile back but he thought that maybe sharing a few of his experiments wasn't going to hurt him.

* * *

"Excuse me, Sirs. What would you like for lunch?"

They worked together for hours, not realizing the time even when they started very early in the morning. Sherlock didn't reply, leaving John the food choice.

"Whatever you can do. Thank you."

"No sir-"

"John, please. Really Clara, whatever you can do it's fine."

The young lady smiled at him and leave the laboratory in silence. Sherlock was looking for more petri dishes in large box when John sat opposite him looking at him, like studying his movements and gestures. He knew that John didn't have any possible deductive skills, the boy couldn't say too much about him. So, instead of let him think wrong, he gave him the opportunity to ask because it was quite clear John had a lot of questions.

"You have questions. First one?"

"Do you- I don't like you, do I?

It was a fair question. A very good question to be asked to Sherlock.

'My parents never asked me or told me about you before you came, and I think you're replacing my dead brother' Crossed his mind, but instead of that, he decided to say what he really felt in that moment.

"I think you really made a great job with the frog, and you were useful with my experiments. You can be my laboratory partner, if you want."

"Can I?"

"Sure. I think better when I talk out loud, and my parents don't want to get me a skull."

"A skull?"

"I've been asking one for three years now."

* * *

After washing their hands, Sherlock was ready to sit in the dinner room but John insisted in having their lunch in the kitchen, since the dinner table was too large for them, and to save the maids the cleaning job. He just nodded in disagreement. The kitchen table was smaller, and the air was warmer. John sat beside Clara and Sherlock in front of them. Since the chef was ill or something like that, Sherlock couldn't remember, Clara was in charge of the meals. She prepared for them tuna with a fresh salad and orange juice, a perfect meal for the heat day.

"It's delicious Clara. Thanks."

She smiled at him, and then to Sherlock. He didn't say anything, but he had to admit that he liked her. She was always caring for him, making tea just like he liked and keeping in secret his night escapades in the garden from his parents. The young maid was very fond of him, not caring too much about his manners.

They ate and talked about the experiments that they conclude and some of the future ones when Sherlock realized for the first time that he was enjoying John's company. He was clever, and patient. He wasn't that boy he used to think before. The blonde boy felt he was destroying that wall that used to be between them and every brick of that wall was easily falling with every minute they shared together.

An old maid appeared in the kitchen, surprised to see Sherlock sitting with John and the other maids and sharing lunch, when she told the kids the news. Apparently, their parents announced they were arriving late in the afternoon giving instructions to Clara, who was in charge of the children to get them ready for their arrival.

"Do you think we can show them our frogs?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the comment. He knew his mother will just faint if she just take a quick glance to their work. But beside that, he could see John's eyes shinning with joy. The few days he shared with his mother before she and his Father left for their holidays, they had been close. His mother really wanted the boy to feel like he was in his home, and that they really loved him.

"Why don't you go and fix the red roses in the garden before Mrs. Holmes arrives? She'll love it."

John looked at Sherlock, waiting for an answer. He looked excited to do something with him. The dark haired boy knew that the wall which was built between them had lost a few bricks. And behind those new empty spaces, John was peeping himself. So, he nodded and after lunch and with the help of the young maid who suggested the idea, they fixed the roses of the garden, cutting the old and deflowered ones and their spines. They shared the scissors, and carefully using gloves for their task, their ended near the time of their parents arrival, with a lovely and neat bouquet of roses to give Elizabeth.

They placed the roses, in a white old french vase in the tiny table of the living room ready for her arrival. Both kids were really tired, and when they looked at each other, John exploded in a laugh. After hours in the laboratory experimenting and in the garden fixing Mrs. Holmes's flowers they were all covered in mud and their clothes had stains from different compounds from the experimenting.

Close enough to the time of the arrival, they had a shower and they changed their clothes before went downstairs again to drink some tea and wait for them.

Sherlock remembered the things Mycroft said several days ago. And when he glanced at John, who was watching telly and eating cookies beside him, he knew that the words he used to use to catalogue him were now only ghost words. Those words didn't have any meaning now, John wasn't a new piece of furniture, he wasn't just a gift from his Father to please her. John-

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his mother's footsteps in the room. She threw her expensive and posh purse on the floor and hugged them together.

"I've missed so much my sons."

She buried her face between them, and anyone now could only see two faces coming from her shoulders. Behind her was Mr. Holmes, smiling at the scene in front of him.

"How are you, Sherlock? Did you miss me?"

The taller boy nodded and kissed her cheek. "I certainly missed you, Mother." Mrs. Holmes smiled at him and then she turned around to greet John.

"I hope you and Sherlock became very good friends."

John nodded and kissed her just like Sherlock did before. She sat between them while Richard sat beside John. The children could see how the maids carried their luggage and a few shop bags upstairs. But Mr. Holmes had two bags in his hands with big and red bows. He handled one to Sherlock and the other to the other kid. Elizabeth moved to have seat with her husband and to let the children open their presents together.

The first one was Sherlock, who found a black box inside the bag. It was a slim and lightweight magnifier that can be easily open and closed with a slowly snap. He smiled at himself proud of his mother. Obviously it was a present coming from her, and she knew perfectly what he was needing it. Now he wasn't going to carry that old and heavy one from his laboratory. He thanked her politely and glanced at John who was looking at it very excited.

"It's pretty, isn't it?"

Sherlock nodded and gestured him to open his present. The bag had two items inside. One was a rectangular box with something slightly heavy in it and the other object was a package of the size of a book. The first thing he opened was the box, which contained a coffee mug with the insignia of the Royal Army Medical Corps. He seemed to like it, since it had the medical insignia grabbed on it.

"It's from the Royal Army Medical Corps. We wanted to buy you one, since all we had a special coffee mug for ourselves, and I know you want to be a doctor in the future. Do you like it?"

He nodded smiling at them. "It's lovely. Thank you."

Then, he opened the other present. He opened it carefully, trying not to break the paper and smiled openly and happily when he saw what it was. It was a Biology book, the same edition Sherlock had, the latest one.

"Now we can work together, John."


	5. You're my Family, Sherlock

Summer with his warm and sunny days came to an end, and the boys were reading their books deeply concentrated on their last experiment 'The human vision' when they both heard his mother calling them from downstairs.

Both children left their books neatly on the desk near the window of the room, and went down wondering why Mrs. Holmes was calling them. It was something strange, since she always respected their time after lunch when they climbed the stairs and shared a few hours reading books and planning experiments to work during week. After that day, in which John finally spoke to Sherlock, they had become very close. Anybody who haven't met them before could say they were real brothers. They had become inseparable in a way Sherlock would never admit. John was his best partner to work in his laboratory, always assisting and helping him to develop his most important experiments and he enjoyed his company during his read hours. They shared all their times with the other, and with proud and love, Mrs. Holmes saw how her kids were getting closer and closer everyday. Since John's arrival, she had been worried about Sherlock's reaction. She saw it the first day, and even the days after. But her husband Richard was right. They needed holidays alone, and maybe leaving them by themselves could help them to get more close. And it happened.

Now, everything was going in good course. Mycroft was going to attend to Cambridge soon, his husband won the elections becoming the new Prime Minister and she knew it was time for them to attend to school and spend more time with other children. The main problem was the school choice. She had managed with his first son sending him to Harrow, a boarding school. But with her youngest kids, she wanted them in the house, but at the same time she wanted them to interact with other kids.

Richard Holmes, now the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom rejected her idea at the first moment. He wanted them in Harrow, just like him and Mycroft and all the Holmes always did, but after discussing it with his wife, he agreed with her. Sherlock was special in terms of his social skills. Maybe it was good for him to attend to a more 'easy' school and stay at home. With John, the thing was similar. Elizabeth didn't want to separate them, and judging by the education he got in the orphanage the previous years, maybe the best thing for him was the same for Sherlock.

"Next week you're going to start school. We're going tomorrow to get you the uniforms and your books"

It was obvious to Sherlock that she was talking about the same school for them. But he glanced at John, who looked confused and happy at the same time. He knew he missed to interact with other kids since he used to live in a orphanage full with them.

Sherlock sighed in relief when his mother assured them they weren't going to a boarding school. He really didn't want to attend to a boarding school like Mycroft. He loved his laboratory and his house to leave it and stay far away from them most part of the year. John seemed to feel the same way as Sherlock. He spent most of the time of his life in an orphan, studying and living there, and he didn't want the same again. He wanted to go back to his home, help Sherlock and be with his family.

Both kids nodded to Mrs. Holmes and after planning the next day, they climbed the stairs ready to continue with their books. Sherlock sat in his bed to read under the sunlight through his window while John placed himself in front of it, sitting in the floor leg crossed. His elbows were on his knees and with his hands he supported his face. The curly haired boy raised his head to see John looking at the other books in his library.

"Did you read all these books?"

"Not exactly."

John stood up from the floor and took a good view from all the books there. If he wasn't wrong, Sherlock had more than one hundred books. Most of them were science books specialized in different areas such as Physics, Biology and Chemistry but he also had fictional books, with a large variety of writers. But he noted a few ones from Arthur Conan Doyle. He never read any book from him, but he knew he was a very good writer in criminal stories in which the main character used to solve crimes using his deductive skills. It remind him of Sherlock. They only had lived together for a few months, but Sherlock never stopped amazing him. He could say a lot of one person just looking. He even tried to work things out like him, but he failed. He never told Sherlock about it, feeling a little bit embarrassed, but he told him that he needed to train himself.  _'You see, but you just don't observe.'_

* * *

They had the same classes. Sherlock knew every teacher of every different subject would ask them if they were relatives since they shared the same last name, but it didn't happen. He had his own suspicions that his mother declared to their teachers about their situation and let's face it, they were the children of the Prime Minister. It wasn't molecular science. John didn't say anything about it, but he knew the boy shared the same thought.

In the breaks between classes they keep together side by side, sitting under a tree and watching the other kids chatting about different things. John told him about how his life was back in the orphanage. "It was just like school." he confessed him. He also told him about how was living there, expecting every day to someone to pick one of them and give them a family. He also trusted him that he used to believe he would never be adopted since he was a big boy, and naturally couples always wanted babies.

"But  _Mummy_  choose me, so..."

The other boy contemplated how the word 'Mummy' left John's mouth. He said it so naturally, just like Mycroft. He even remembered the first time John said that word. It happened a few weeks before start school. They were working together in the laboratory when his mother interrupted them saying it was time to have a bath because they had to attend to some party his father was giving when John accidentally dropped the word. "I'm sorry, I-"

Mrs Holmes, far away from be angry smiled at him and gave him a slightly squeeze in his shoulder. "It's all fine John, you know my husband and I are your parents now. Don't be shy, everything it's fine." John blushed furiously and looked at Sherlock, fully embarrassed. The dark haired boy smirked at him and they continued working in silence. He knew the blonde thought he was going to be mad, but he wasn't. He never said anything about it.

"Are you happy living with us?"

John smiled at him, and stood up from the green grass offering Sherlock a hand. The bell rang and it was time to get into their next class. He took the hand and they walked together side by side heading to the classroom. "Of course I'm happy.  _You are my family,_ Sherlock."

* * *

_"...we are different! You were just a replacement. You're not John Holmes. You're not my brother!"_

_He tried very hard not to fall to the floor. His knees were strong, but not his eyes. Heavy and painful tears fell over his cheeks. The man in front of him saw the damage he have caused._

* * *

The school day ended quickly and after the sound of the bells the boys were walking outside the building finding Charles already waiting for them in the family car. The ride back home was silent, until they passed the Orphanage in which John used to live.

"Charles, can you please stop here?"

The driver did as he was told and John got out the car, and walked a few steps until he was near the playground. He didn't need to turn around to see Sherlock standing just behind him. "I used to sit there and read my book." John pointed with his left index finger a point near a the end of the place. It was empty, and lots of kids of different ages were running from one place to another playing games. None of them stopped to see the two kids in school uniforms watching them from outside, not even the nuns.

He felt speechless. His mouth was dry and he felt the need of touch John and tell him everything was OK. But his body couldn't react. He only walked a few steps until he was side by side with John, when he took his hands with his. His hands were warm and soft and despite the height difference, Sherlock didn't need to lower his eyes to see a little tear fall from John's eye.

"Let's go back home. Mummy must be waiting for us."

John cleaned his face quickly before got back in the car. The silence during the rest of the way back their home was painful for Sherlock. He really felt like he needed to say something to John, to assure him everything was fine, that everything will be aways fine. But he couldn't.

John's eyes were glued to the road until they arrived home. Before Sherlock could take his bag and made his way out of the car, John took his hand and smiled at him, telling him to not tell Mummy about their stop. He couldn't do anything more than nod to John's request promising he will never say a word about it.

* * *

_"Can you remember our first day at school? We stopped in the Orphanage in our way back home. You showed me the place you used to sit and read. Can you remember, John?"_

_"I cried"_

_"I'm sorry, John"_

* * *

The following days, weeks and months passed calmly and quickly before anyone could even notice. It was snowing so hard that Mrs. Holmes banned them to go out to the garden to work in their laboratory. And after not finding an interesting book to read, a crap show on telly, or even a old homework from school, they ended walking through all the house looking for something to do when Mycroft arrived.

The elder brother greeted both kids and they shared cups of milkshake and cake in the afternoon. He secretly noted how Sherlock had become closer to John and how they talked to each other. The last time he saw them, Sherlock treated him like an alien, like someone who didn't belong to them. Now they were equals, and even the curly haired boy used to smile to him. Mycroft had received a few letters from Mummy with updated information of the boys. She was very proud of them and happy to see how they developed their relationship every day.

And now he could see that with his own eyes. Even little details like small touches and smirks hidden behind him. The huge differences between them such their hair colour, their eyes, their face shape, all those physical differences wasn't worth comparing in how similar they were at the same time. How they could understand each other with just a glare and a smile.

* * *

_"We are brothers, John."_

_Silence fell over them. The other man couldn't help but try to get close to him. But the recent graduate Doctor stepped back.  
_

_"You said it. Don't you remember, Sherlock? You said the truth. We are not brothers."_

_"John, I didn't mean it-"_

_"You said it Sherlock. We are different."_

* * *

It was the first Christmas of the Holmes with John. Elizabeth took good care choosing the most big and beautiful tree John could have ever seen. It was as tall as the ceiling, and the maids have to use a long ladder to decorate it. And finally, with Mycroft's help both kids put the angel up in the tree.

In the floor, Richard and Elizabeth placed the countless gifts all wrapped in colourful wrappers with huge bows. And the kids played all the afternoon trying to deduce what was inside each present. Eventually Sherlock could deduce most of them, but he didn't tell John because he wanted him to be surprised in the Christmas morning. If he wasn't wrong, John was getting some jumpers, a book, a pair of new shoes and there was a large box he couldn't really picture what was inside. He didn't touch it too much, afraid he could break whatever was inside. He also deduced his presents and told them to his brother. Shirts, a new laboratory equipment and something else he couldn't deduce was a small package adress to him. He felt a little bit disappointed knowing the skull wasn't under the Christmas tree that year.

"And Mycroft is getting new clothes because again he put on weight again, five to seven pounds, and a new and classy bag for university."

"That's fantastic, Sherlock!"

"You know you do that aloud?"

Before John could reply something, the news at the telly caught Sherlock's attention. A boy about his age died drowned in a swimming competition in a pool in Bristol South Swimming Pool. The reporters were explaining that apparently the kid, Carl Powers suffered an epilepsy attack during the competition and no one could save him. John recognised the kid immediately when the photo appeared in the screen. He was their classmate.

"He didn't had epilepsy. Someone killed him."

He ran to Mycroft, his mother and even his father saying all his deductions convinced someone killed Carl Powers and that he needed to call the police. All of them couldn't help him, not because they doubted about his deductive skills, they weren't fools to not notice Sherlock's intelligence, but they knew the police would refuse to hear an underage kid with deductive skills.  
After that, he was angry. He knew someone killed Carl Powers and he really wanted to prove it, but no one care about it but John. The blonde kid sat beside him in his bed and with a squeeze in his hand, Sherlock told his brother all his deductions and how he knew the kid was murdered.

"It's all fine, Sherlock. I believe you."

* * *

_"Please, don't go-"_

_"I'm a doctor, and my country needs me."_

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was right. John got his jumpers, pair of classy shoes, a Grey's Anatomy book and a stethoscope. His parents really wanted him to be a doctor, and far away of feeling pushed John took it naturally, the total opposite from Sherlock who disliked every push his father or even his mother could do over him to be something in particular. Mycroft and John seemed happy with it, but he didn't.

He got everything he deduced. Shirts, a new laboratory equipment and the small package contained a leather little bag full with little equipment for work. His mother explained to him that it was perfect for him to investigate at every moment and every place he wanted. Obviously, she didn't forgot to warn his son about his use. Not in the middle of the classes and not in his father's parties.

That Christmas morning both kids and his older brother were sitting in the large sofa, all together watching their parents in a public event in London. His father was receiving a few soldiers after a campaign in some foreign country and Sherlock could see how John looked at them in amazement. Mycroft also saw that, and he didn't doubt to ask him about it.

"Joining the army in the future, John?"

"I like them. I'd like to be a doctor and a soldier."

"That's dull."

John frowned at him and took another sip of his hot chocolate. "For the Queen and for the country, John." replied Mycroft, smiling at him.

Who would say a few months ago how his little brother was going to change? Everything started looking behind a door which used to hide a secret everyone knew but Sherlock. The secret was the death of a brother who practically died before he could be alive. Many years after, Sherlock Holmes asked about it, not even knowing what was behind. A cradle, blue curtains, a blue carpet and a piece of fabric with the name John embroidered with blue threads were hidden behind the last door of the hallway.  
After that, it wasn't a secret anymore. There wasn't any need to keep that door closed.

And John was back again to their lives. More alive than ever, ready to bring the hope and love all the family needed. This John, was different. He was a mystery Sherlock couldn't resolve completely.  
John H. Holmes become his brother without him noticing it. Everyone could say they were different, but they were more than similar. They complemented each other. Sherlock wasn't the same kid without John.  
They were going to be more than brothers.

* * *

_"Please John, don't go"_

_The other man took the rest of his belongings and placed them in his bag and turned around to see the other man, maybe for the last time. He also looked at his room. The blue carpet had some old stains as a result of many experiments made years ago, and his old books 'Alice in the Wonderland' and 'Biology' were placed on his desk. The dark haired man looked like he was almost going to fall to the floor and beg him to stay. But it was late. Words spoken hurt him. Those words killed him. Sherlock's words killed John Holmes forever._


	6. Epilogue

"Why do you want to be a doctor, John?"

Both teenagers were lying over the cold grass on their backs, looking directly to the sky with their eyes like asking themselves how many stars were over them in the dark sky. It was a warm night and they were just there in silence maybe making a summary inside their heads about the previous events during dinner or wondering what will happen the following morning once the sun were up in the sky.

Sherlock's question broke that silence, making John realize where he was. John Holmes was in his home, in the garden to be more accurate, with his brother Sherlock Holmes lying on their backs watching the dark and black sky over their heads. There were a few stars that shone more than others. The blond teenager smiled at that fact. His older brother told him it was because those were more close to the Earth. He had a vague memory of his mother, his biological mother.

'Some stars shine more than others because they are special. You, my baby, are one of those stars. You'll shine more than anyone else because you're special.'

He had to admit he was a very curious boy always asking his mother things about nature and why his nails were the way they were, why his hair was blonde, was he was a boy and his sister a girl. He smiled to himself when he remembered those moments. He tried to keep them clear and safe on his head, but with the time passing, he find out that it became more and more difficult to still remember. There were days in which he couldn't remember his parent's faces. Pitifully he didn't have any picture of them, or of his sister. He didn't know any relative. He didn't know if Harriet was alive. The only thing he remembered was waking up with a nun beside his bed, and a plaster on his right arm after a car crash.

He took his brother's hand and stroke it gently. Sherlock's face turned to face him, but he didn't look back. After a few deep breaths, John faced him. His dark and long curls were placed in such distinctive ways over his forehead. When they looked at each other, John remembered how different they were. Not only physically with their hair, their eyes, their features. They were different in attitude as well. Sherlock was energetic, fearless, eccentric in some ways and bold. All the opposite of him. They were different.

John Holmes still remember his first days living under the same roof as Sherlock. The tall boy couldn't forgive him something he didn't know at that moment. He paid it with silence and indifference coming from the curly haired boy. At it could have been lasted until present days unless he made the first move.

'Can I- Can I work with you on them? I- I don't have anything to do, and-'

'I'm going to dissect some frogs. Maybe you can help me, though.'

Since that day, they were inseparable. It was almost impossible to conceive one without the other. John was proud to be close to Sherlock. He was proud to share those moments together in their laboratory making strange experiments, stealing cookies from the kitchen before dinner, reading together detective stories and even making one or another little joke to Mycroft when he was at home. Mostly important, John was proud to be Sherlock's brother.

"Am I your brother, Sherlock?"

John said out of the blue. It took Sherlock for surprise, but he didn't hesitate at the moment of his answer. His brother's blue eyes were visible even in the most darkest night of the year. His short and neat blonde hair and his porridge jumper had green stains from the grass under him back. After the discussion over the diner table, John seemed to be happy. His father couldn't accept his decision about Saint Bartholomew's Medicine School. He wanted them both in Cambridge like all the Holmes men and women did in the past. It was early to make paperwork, but John was determined to attend Saint Bart's after school. His brother tried to keep the comment out of the conversation, but eventually after long minutes of a senseless speech coming from Richard Holmes, John let those words leave his mouth for the first time in his life.

'I'm not a real Holmes.'

His mother let out a small cry out of his mouth and heavy tears fell from his grey eyes. Her husband took her hand and let his gaze fell to the table. John sighed heavily knowing he had hurt their feelings, but it was truth. He was once John H. Watson, but now he was John H. Holmes. He wasn't a real Holmes, he wasn't as clever as his brothers. He hadn't had Elizabeth's curly hair or Richard's green eyes. He would be accepted there because he carried that name and because his father had been once the PM. But again, John admitted he wasn't a real Holmes.

He apologised to their parents after dinner. Elizabeth hugged him so tightly, that he felt like she was going to break some of his ribs. Richard accepted his decision defeated, and when both parents went upstairs to sleep, they ran out to the garden.

"I know it was a mistake to say that, but it's the truth and-"

"Don't be so stupid, John. You're my brother."

The silence of the night fell over them again and the only audible noises came from birds and frogs. They stopped hunting them when they found dissection of reptiles an old experiment to perform. It remind them of the first experiment they shared together. Certainly, Sherlock didn't know it, but John kept that old paper with Sherlock's observations about frog's anatomy hidden in the deepest of a desk drawer.

They loved London.

They knew every London's street.

John and Sherlock were in love with London.

On holidays, if their parents were abroad, they used to take their money and walk through the different and striking streets of the city they knew like the palms of their hands, such as Westminster, Soho, Myfair, Covent Garden, and so on. John loved to go to Arthur Conan Doyle's museum and visit his favourite fictional detective's house. Certainly it was in a different street from the original story, but basically the place was just the same as the descriptions of the writer. They used to visit the place every time they could, taking them several visits to convince the guard outside that they really loved the place and they weren't there to steal anything... Sherlock wanted but John was there to remember him it was a 'not bit good'. His favourite part was the fireplace and the little table in the middle of the sitting room in which the private detective and his friend used to sit and share moments in front of the fireplace. It had an old and big magnifier, a pipe and even the detective's hat.

The blonde teenager used to tell his brother he was just like him. The deductive skills, and even the attitude made Sherlock and the fictional character the same person. 'I'd never use that hat, that pipe and that ugly magnifier John' He couldn't help but smile a him.

While John enjoyed the fireplace and the table, Sherlock was fascinated with the drug's kit and the chemistry equipment on the kitchen table. It was old and the microscope was old fashioned obviously, and the other thing he loved the most was the dog's head hanging on the wall. It was from the case 'The hound of the Baskervilles', his favourite one. John liked 'Study in Scarlet' and 'The sign of the four'.

After an obligatory visit to the souvenir shop, they walked several streets, visiting Sherlock's favourite places such as the Thames, in where he used to tell John about all the bodies that could be found there and the façade of the New Scotland Yard building. The blonde boy could see the brightness on his brother's eyes. He knew he used to believe police detectives were stupid, but certainly, it was one of his most favourite places.  
And when they were finishing their visit to the big city, Sherlock surprised John with a black door and a three numbers and a b letter on it. Next to the black door was a little coffee shop managed by an old lady wearing a violet dress and a open and warm smile. Both teenagers looked at the poster glued on the window of the place. The old lady was renting rooms to 'responsible' people. It had two rooms, a sitting room with a fireplace, a kitchen and a bathroom. John couldn't help but burst out laughing at the description of the place and the number on the door. It was the same as the fictional stories they read since they were kids. Sherlock didn't shared the same laugh as his brother. With a very determined voice, Sherlock assured John one day, they will be living there together.


End file.
